


A Little Help

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7697899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from Season 5, episode 6, after Miss Baxter takes Thomas to see Dr. Clarkson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Help

They had huddled together under his umbrella during their entire walk back from the village, what with the rain coming down so steadily. But as they reached the servants' entrance to the abbey, Phyllis took Thomas' arm. She hoped it looked like a friendly and reassuring gesture, though she meant to give him some physical support. He was getting tired; the walk to and from the village had been difficult for him.

They entered the servants' quarters, and found the hall blessedly quiet at this time of day. Phyllis silently helped Thomas out of his coat, then took his hat and placed it on the shelf. As she took off her own coat and began to unpin her hat, he walked slowly toward the kitchen. 

"You go on upstairs now, and lie down," she said. "I'll tell Mr. Carson, and I'll bring you some ice."

He whirled around to face her. "Don't tell him--"

"I won't," she answered quickly. "I'll tell him you've been to see Dr. Clarkson, and that he's said you're to stay in bed a few days. That's it, I promise." She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, surprised that after all this Thomas would think she would tell Mr. Carson the details of his illness. "Now go on up. Unless you think you can't manage the stairs on your own?"

He waved her away with what little energy he had left, and began slowly to ascend the stairs. She sighed as she watched him go, then headed to Mr. Carson's pantry.

***

A few minutes later she made her way to the men's side of the attics, carrying a tray with a bowl full of ice, a couple of towels, and two aspirin and a glass of water. She entered Thomas' room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed. It looked as though he had made some futile effort to loosen his tie, but had not made much headway. She set the tray down on his bureau, then approached him. Silently she pulled at his tie, loosening it until it came free, then tossed it on his armchair. Next came his collar, also tossed to the chair. She paused for a moment, to see if her assistance had encouraged him to move to finish undressing himself. When he didn't budge, she pushed his jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall on the bed behind him. Next came his waistcoat, also falling onto the bed. She paused again, then began unbuttoning his shirt. Once she had removed it, and he was sitting there in his undershirt and trousers, she began to pick up the pieces of clothing all around him, and placed these on the chair as well. She knelt in front of him and removed his shoes, placing them neatly under his bed by his feet. 

She looked up at him then, and finally he spoke. "What did Mr. Carson say, then?"

"Mr. Carson is out, with Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. But I'm sure I'll see him this evening before dinner. I'll tell him then," she answered. She walked over to his bureau and opened a drawer. "Do you want pajamas?" she asked, turning to face him.

He considered this for a second or two. "Just the bottoms," he answered. She nodded, pulled out a pair of pajama trousers, and handed them to him. Luckily he seemed to have suddenly mustered the energy to stand, let his trousers fall to the floor, and trade them for the more comfortable pajama bottoms. As he did this, she walked back to the bureau for the aspirin and glass of water. Once he was seated on the edge of the bed again, she handed him the tablets, and he eyed her somewhat suspiciously. 

"It's only aspirin," she explained. "It'll help with the pain. And the fever, as well, I should think." He took the tablets from her then, and put them in his mouth. He swallowed them with the water, then handed the glass back to her. She placed the glass on his nightstand, then couldn't stop herself from placing her hand on his forehead, feeling for elevated temperature. He was burning up, just as he had been earlier this afternoon when he'd finally confessed to her the cause of his recent illness. "Can you lie down?" she asked, moving her hand to the side of his face, then back to her side. 

"On me left side," he answered sheepishly, looking at the floor.

"Alright then," she said, and watched as he grimaced, gingerly moving himself from sitting on the edge of the bed to lying on it, facing away from her. She returned to her tray and wrapped handfuls of ice chips in a towel, forming a small packet. She walked back to the bed, standing over him. "Can you... pull your trousers down? Just a bit?" He obliged, pulling down his pajamas to expose the nasty abscess to her sight for the second time that day. Carefully she placed the ice over it, jumping when he cried out.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"It's alright," he said, through gritted teeth. The cold of the ice was extreme on his burning skin, but in some way it soothed the wound. Holding the ice in place with her right hand, she pushed a pillow up against his backside, holding the packet in place. 

"Now lean back," she said gently, and Thomas leaned into the pillow, keeping the ice in place. He shivered, and she reached down for the duvet at his feet, pulling it up to his chin. Then she returned to the tray, and the bowl of ice on the bureau once more. This time she picked up the bowl and a second, smaller towel, and brought what was left of the ice to the other side of his bed, where his wash stand was. She poured some water over the ice, then sat down carefully on the bed next to him. She dipped the towel into the icy water, wrung it out, and touched it to his forehead.

He tried not to speak, but a small "Oh--" escaped his lips at the coolness of her touch, of the wet material. She gently wiped his forehead, his cheeks, and his neck, then dipped the towel in the cold water again. She folded the towel in thirds this time, and placed it over his forehead, leaving it to rest there. 

"Why are you being so good to me? After all I've done?" he whispered.

She smiled down at him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You're letting me," she said softly. "I would always be good to you, if you'd let me."

His eyes met hers for probably the first time that day, before he closed them and relaxed into his pillow. He nodded, trying to understand.

"You rest now," she said. "Try to sleep. You need it... I'll look in on you in an hour or two, and bring you your tea."

She rose from the bed then, and walked back to the bureau and picked up her tray. As she made her way to the door, she heard him stir. He seemed to be having difficulty dragging his eyes open. She paused, waiting for him to speak.

"Miss Baxter?" he asked, his voice small.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," he breathed, then seemed to fall asleep entirely.

She smiled to herself. "You are so welcome," she whispered, as she slipped out the door, and closed it softly behind her.


End file.
